this shoe is a bear-trap
wonderful Peruvian trick of
of me my rueful sentiments
did gyre and gimble
compose ardently an effigy
to befit the fallen name.
There was murder in that house:
and so all the arch angel masonry
has turned jocular.
I am a whore with smiles--
Can you not grasp my despondence?
in me lurks a cthulhu
my tentacles alive and convulsing
the beast growls inside its box.
give me connivance, give me reason
and I shall, with little ceremony,
tear my face off.
And the wonderful thing about this
is that you, my friend, cannot pluck
that morose scab from the linoleum floor
and sew it back on.
It is not a shadow,
and I am not a little prince
though I do wish I could fly
and witness more sunsets
from a metal folding chair.